The Lonely Road
by nubiem
Summary: Picking up the pieces of her life after running from the wizarding world, Hermione Granger encounters Draco Malfoy, watching his own life turn to dust. The lives they were all so eager to build have burned to ash before their eyes, the promise of happiness poisoned by their own personal tragedies. EWE, D/Hr
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I am not making any money off this story. No copyright infringement is intended. **

**A/N: Hey, I'm back! I've had this idea in my head for a while but I haven't really put enough of it to paper. That said, I've had this prologue written for you all, so I think it's about ready to go. If you like what you see then please leave a REVIEW. They really do inspire me to work faster/harder because it's so nice to see people actually responding to my work.**

**I'm also doing music selections because why the hell not. Music selections for this chapter: "Corpse Roads," by Keaton Henson and "Bones," by Ben Howard. **

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><p><strong>BEFORE<strong>

He supposed it was karma for all the shit he had done when he was young.

Whilst he mightn't have been the one to cast the curse that threw the old man from the tower, Dumbledore's death still stained his hands red. He had stood by whilst classmates were tortured in front of him. Watched Charity Burbage's life be extinguished at his dining table. Hell, he hadn't even raised his wand to save Crabbe from the fiendfyre. So he figured this was the world's way of getting even, of righting the imbalance of justice he had caused, but he hadn't worked out why the world was making him pay this way.

His fingers threaded through his hair for a moment, the strands too long, the time too short for him to leave and get it cut. It wasn't as though his presence in the dimly lit room was doing anything practical, just taking up space and getting in the way when Healers came to do their duty, but a haircut wasn't going to do anything practical and leaving meant he might miss something. Instead, he pulled the blond hair into a small ponytail, kept it off his face, leaving his hands free to hold hers. At his touch, her lips parted and she exhaled a soft breath.

"Hi," Astoria said. She wet the cracked skin with her tongue and the exertion made her eyes flutter closed once more.

"Hi." He lifted their linked hands and kissed her knuckles. She was cold, white all over, except for the purpled shadows beneath her eyes. In contrast to her shiny dark hair, she seemed to blend into the hospital sheets. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," she said and they both knew it was a lie so big it cracked her lips. He stood and lifted a cloth from the table beside her bed, using it to mop up the droplet of red that stained the skin. "I just want to go home."

"I know."

Home. He wondered if it would still feel like that, their house having been empty for the better part of almost six months. House elves cleaned once a week, made sure the place never started to smell musty, kept the furniture from fading. He went home every now and then to collect a clean shirt, though by now most of his garments were just treated to a hasty _Scourgify_ and the hospital staff took pity on him, allowing him to use the staff showers so he didn't have to leave her side for more than ten minutes at a time.

Because that was the nature of whatever illness she had. Because ten minutes could change everything. Because one minute she had been standing in front of the dresser in their bedroom, clipping her earrings in, and the next he had come into the room to find her on the floor and barely breathing. Because six months trickled by with no real diagnosis and an entirely negative prognosis. Because he still had the engagement ring in his pocket from that night, right next to the earrings she hadn't managed to put in.

"I don't want to die here."

The same words she said every morning when she woke. The same words that choked him up, left an impossible to swallow truth in his throat. "You won't," he said.

She didn't say anything else but they both knew he would have to get her home soon if she was to die there. He didn't say anything else but they both knew he would rather not take her to their house, rather keep the memories of that place happy, keep death at bay. But it was already a recommendation from the Healers, with instructions to make her comfortable, keep her happy, as if happiness could be handed to her on a silver platter with a cup of tea as she lay in their bed.

"Draco," she said and there was a soft pause when she took the time to wet her lips, though it looked to do little to comfort her. "It's going to be alright. You'll be alright."

"You've always been far more of an optimist than me," he said, reaching over to push the hair from her face. She leaned into the warmth and those cracked lips left the smallest of kisses on his skin and he thought his heart might have just shattered in his chest, pieces strewn through his ribcage.

"I prefer realist," she said. There was a shaky, jagged breath in and her eyelids fluttered. "Love you."

"I love you," he replied just as her eyes closed and her breaths fell into a steady, even pace. Draco dropped his head into his palms, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. When it appeared clear that Astoria was going to sleep for a long while, he stood, stretched the stiffness out of his legs. The air in the room was stale, dark, the curtains kept closed due to Astoria's sensitivity to light. Another symptom to add to the endless list.

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><p>Hermione Granger offered a thin-lipped smile to the other occupants of the elevator as she pushed her way out, clutching her bag close to herself. Some of the others made her exit easy, others chose to gawk instead. Regardless, she forced her way past, dropping her shoulders when she heard the doors slide shut behind her.<p>

The floor was quiet, a space for long-term residents, a space for their future corpses. Hermione kept her eyes to the floor as she walked through, passing no one, her footsteps the only sound. It was easier than looking into the rooms, seeing the patients they could not cure, their families at their bedside. Their faces always held a peculiar look of resignation, still tinged with hope at the possibility of a miracle turning up. Not that it ever did.

There was someone already waiting at the corner station, stopping Hermione in her tracks. It might've been longer than it had been in their school days, but there was no mistaking the white blonde hair she saw. The longest strands grazed the collar of an unironed shirt, his shoulders slumped. Hermione resumed her approach, convincing herself she was more surprised than affronted, queuing up behind him.

"Thank you," he said, turning away from the counter. She kept her back straight, chin up. Draco Malfoy was close enough that she could almost feel his breath against her skin, but there was no flicker of recognition in his eyes. It took a moment before he seemed to realise who she was, but no insults were thrown. He merely sidestepped her, going back the way she came down the hallway, the empty space where he stood taken up by whom Hermione had intended to visit.

"You alright?" Cho asked, putting her quill back on the desk. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione shook her head slightly. "Yeah, fine," she said. "You left your lunch at the apartment. I've got the morning off so I thought I'd run it over to you before I headed in." She withdrew a brown paper bag and handed it across the counter.

"I don't think I'll have time to eat but thanks." Cho's dark eyes flickered, a half second, to where Draco had retreated down the hallway. "Do we want to order in tonight? I might be late."

"That suits me," Hermione said. She turned her head, seeing the rest of the space empty. "Is it because of _him_?" she asked.

"You know I can't tell you that," Cho said, but her lips pursed and she offered a slight inclination of her head in return. "Look, thanks for bringing me lunch, but I have to start prepping my patient."

"Of course," Hermione said. "I have to get to class. Let me know if you want me to pick anything up after I finish for the day."

She turned, leaving Cho to clipboards and coffee, carried herself back down the hallway. In the desertion, her footsteps were loud and she slowed her pace, looking to the panels of glass instead. Most rooms had their curtains drawn and an immediate sense of guilt settled in her gut. Who was she to invade their grief? But curiosity, as was always the case, won out. She settled for quick flickers to the rooms as she passed, met again and again by closed curtains until she reached the last room.

Here, the door was open, just enough that she could see inside on her way past. Illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights leaking in through the crack, she saw a hunched over figure with gleaming white hair, head in hands. Hermione hovered, stepping back slightly to adjust her angle. He was sitting beside the bed, a shadowed figure sinking into the sheets. There was no contact between the two and yet she felt as though she were intruding on a moment of such intimacy that her cheeks coloured immediately and she picked up her step, hurrying back to the elevator and pressing the button repeatedly until the lift arrived.


	2. Chapter 1: Three Months Later

**A/N: **First official chapter! Thank you for the wonderful support! For those of you who don't know, I have a tumblr, which I've linked in my profile. I post updates on there if you're interested on keeping up with what I'm doing/seeing my other HP interests.

I don't want this chapter to lull you all into a false sense of security. This is a lot nicer and fluffier than the rest of the story, the angst of which will really start to come across in the next chapter. Don't get too comfortable.

If you like what you see, please **REVIEW**.

Song recs for this chapter: 3A.M. by Gregory Alan Isakov and Ho Hey by The Lumineers.

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><p><strong>3 MONTHS LATER<strong>

Autumn had seemingly given itself entirely away to winter, leaving Hermione cold as she trundled through the streets of London. It was yet to snow, but the sharp tang of the air promised even colder days to come. Despite the immense number of layers and frozen nose, she was thankful for the weather, for December, for Friday, for the chance at two weeks away from teaching. There were still English papers to be marked, of course, but nothing that couldn't be done in front of the fire. Any free time, she had decided, was to be spent doing precisely what _she_ wanted to do.

It was with renewed vigour that she taught her classes for the day, encouraging the Year Eights to get ahead on their reading for the next term. She offered no inward sighs when Stevie McManus, class prankster with hair red enough to remind her of a certain set of twins, tried to glue her to her seat. There wasn't even an offer of detention, her mood too good to be spoiled.

As was usual when they reached the end of term, Hermione joined the rest of the teachers in the Staff Lounge after the final bell had rung, bottles of champagne prepared by the headmaster and ready for celebration. She laughed when Mr Fink, one of the Maths teachers, struggled immensely to open one of the bottles. She chatted with Mrs King and Ms Stevenson, the two other English teachers, forgetting the time until it was almost six o'clock and the cleaners had gone home for the night.

Collecting her handbag, she ducked into the bathroom to change into something less work-appropriate, more dinner-appropriate. Emerging from the bathroom, she farewelled the headmaster with a wave and turned to one of the mirrors, pulling out a makeup bag.

"Miss Granger," said Charlie Wallace, the school's resident P.E. teacher. He and Hermione had fallen into comfortable flirtation, both the youngest teachers on staff, both single. He had smiled at her from across the room an hour ago, but neither had made an approach. Their relationship was a quiet one, played out in the silent spaces of their interaction.

"Mr Wallace," she said, pausing her lipstick application to smile at him.

"You look nice," he remarked, collecting some papers. "Something special planned for tonight?"

"Just dinner with my roommate. Celebrating my end of term and the end of her placement."

"Ah, the doctor," Charlie said. "Enjoy it, and I suppose I'll see you in two weeks."

He was halfway to the door when she called out his name, heart thrumming when he turned back to face her. "Two weeks is an awfully long time," she said, apparently emboldened by red lipstick. "Are you free on Tuesday?"

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><p>She had reconnected with Cho Chang on a blistering summers day in Muggle London, four blocks away from her apartment and a bag of kitty litter in tow. There had been a moment of distant recognition on Hermione's part, the former Ravenclaw looking little like her schoolyard self. Instead of the waist length black hair she had once sported, Cho's new haircut was short and choppy, swept off her face in an elegant quiff, revealing high cheekbones and clean, striking bone structure. And with combat boots and tight jeans, she was an even further cry from Harry's fifth year fling, but there remained a spark of intuition and the quick wit which had her sorted into Rowena's house.<p>

The conversation had begun easily, the usual questions, love lives and careers. Cho as a Healer, Hermione's divorce, Cho's recently ended relationship with a Muggle barista, Hermione's break from the Wizarding world with a job as an English teacher in a Muggle school. They didn't speak of the war or Cho's radical change in appearance or Hermione's long sleeves despite climbing temperatures.

"I'm looking for a new place since I moved out of my apartment with Stephen," Cho said. "My parents aren't the easiest people to live with but I can't find anything that suits."

"It's a difficult market," Hermione agreed, looking at the exorbitant rent prices listed on the adverts in the window of the realtor Cho had been looking at. "Mine belonged to my parents as a base for when my father needed to be closer to the city for work. I know I certainly couldn't afford it otherwise." She checked her watch, saw the time, remembered the stacks of essays she had yet to mark sitting in her apartment. "It was great seeing you, Cho. I hope you find an apartment."

She had waved farewell, continuing up to the end of the block with her bags apparently increasing in weight under the mid afternoon sun when a thought crossed her mind and she pivoted on the spot, raising her voice.

"Cho!" she called back and the Ravenclaw turned. "How do you feel about cats?"

And the rest had flowed simply. Cho had moved in by the end of the weekend, Hermione's spare room now put to good use. They were good roommates. Neither drank outside of a glass or two of wine throughout the week and their ritualistic gin and tonics on Friday nights. They kept similar hours, preferred staying in to going out, offered the one another enough of their separate worlds.

It was their chance meeting that brought them to dinner in the heart of London, Hermione having taken the thoroughly Muggle tube to meet her roommate for their celebratory dinner. The date, marking the end of term for Hermione, happened to coincide with the conclusion of Cho's final placement.

They had ordered gin and tonics at the bar, settled at their table with a bottle of wine when it came time for their reservation. Conversation lulled when the waiter presented them with freshly baked bread, still warm, and a small dipping bowl of olive oil.

"You are looking at the newest addition to the long term care department at Mungo's," Cho announced over the bread, lifting her wine glass. Hermione obliged, clinking hers.

"What about it being the end of your placement? I thought you were supposed to have some time off."

"Well, a weekend counts as time off," Cho said. "I start at eight o'clock on Monday."

Hermione pursed her lips, well aware she was slipping into her teacher mode. Lectures about needing to take a break were dispelled with a sip of wine, though she only offered a pointed look at Cho's thinning body and the pallour of her skin.

"Don't give me that look," Cho said. "You were the biggest workaholic back in school."

"But you haven't had time off in months," Hermione said. "I was thinking we could actually be proper roommates and spent time with each other. You know, outside of pyjamas and bad telly."

"Well, if you want, you're more than welcome to come to the hospital," Cho said. "We're actually starting up a volunteer program."

Hermione had heard about this, had told Cho she would help out, had not realised it would fall precisely when she was planning on spending two straight weeks in various pairs of sweatpants and old t-shirts. "The grief counselling? Shouldn't you get actual professionals in to do that?"

"It isn't so much as grief counselling as it is lending a helping hand," Cho said. The waiter arrived with their mains, pausing to rake his eyes over Cho's exposed skin. Her leather shirt did little to cover her, instead constricting, displaying the carefully inked tattoos along her back. "You know, bringing people meals if they need them, checking in on them from time to time."

When Hermione didn't say anything, Cho continued. "You'd be an ideal volunteer."

"I'm not a counsellor."

"But you've lost," Cho said. "You grieved and you came out the other side."

Hermione returned her glass to the table with more force than necessary, picking up her cutlery. The wine threatened to slosh over the sides. "Right, because that's an experience I'd really love to talk about again," she said. "We can share battle wounds."

"_Hermione_," Cho's voice was a whine. "Come on, don't be like that. You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure that I do." She cut, quite savagely, into her eggplant parmagiana. Her throat caught, looking at the dark tomato sauce, how it clotted, gripped to the sides of the plate. She nudged it with her knife, breaking the crust. From inside, the sauce ran across the plate, garish and red. Hermione swallowed, put her cutlery on the plate, pushed it away.

"Look, you fought and you survived. You lost more than most but somehow, you came back from it," Cho said. She had also chosen to ignore her meal, pushing her plate to the side of the table. "I'm not asking to share your experiences. Just lend a hand. People will respond if it's _you_."

"I'm not some puppet, Cho," she said, her venom giving way.

"I know," Cho said. "But people look up to you. People need your support."

As was usual, Hermione felt her resolve crumbling. Even heavily outlined with thick black eyeliner, Cho was still able to make her eyes look impossibly innocent, pleading. "I'll think about it," was all Hermione promised, though her appetite remained lost, and both women chose wine for their second course instead.

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><p>"Dentists? Really?" Charlie asked her, and Hermione nodded. She was trying to hide her smile behind a coffee cup, hoping her enthusiasm wasn't too obvious. "Was that their initial idea? Or did they want to be doctors?"<p>

"No, actually. They're just very passionate about teeth," Hermione said. She felt a thrill through her system when Charlie's head tilted back and he laughed. As she had already done several times throughout their coffee date, she took his momentary distraction as an excuse to study him. He was nothing like Ron, who had been her most recent partner though their relationship had declined three years earlier. Instead, he was broad across the chest, dark hair, lightly tanned skin, a permanent five o'clock shadow smattered across his jaw.

Their cup of coffee had turned into two, then tea, then cake. It was now four hours since they had met in the little café, the owner looking put out as they were the only customers left and it must have been close to closing. But their conversation had not waned once, flowing easily, unstilted. Everything was tinged with a layer of flirtation. Occasionally, Charlie had reached across the table to rest his hand on hers or push some hair behind her ear. The gestures, intimate in their innocence, made her blush each time.

"Passionate about teeth," Charlie repeated, still smiling. He was the owner of a perfect set of his own teeth, straight and an ideal whiteness. "Is that why you have such great choppers?"

Hermione laughed. "They certainly did lend a helping hand," she said. "Though I pray you'll never see a picture of me before I was fourteen. My teeth were utterly horrendous."

Charlie reached across the gap between them once more, his hand on her cheek, thumb grazing across her lip. She blushed, looked down, smiled. Merlin help her, she was as giddy as a schoolgirl. "Well, your smile is certainly something worth seeing now," he said. Hermione looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "Christ, why did it take us this long to go out?" He dropped his had and Hermione felt in charge of herself enough to look up properly, hoping the colour had faded from her cheeks.

"I've been known to be exceptionally stubborn," she said. "Family trait."

The café's owner, apparently having given up on waiting for them to leave, offered no apologies when she came to their table and ushered them out a moment later. Charlie glanced at his watch, apparently having forgotten the time, though his apology seemed less than sincere. He helped Hermione into her coat, putting his own on as she wove her scarf around her neck. On their way out, he held the door open, each gesture warming her from the inside.

Having already spent so long with him that afternoon, Hermione thought herself ridiculous for wanting to spend even longer with her companion. However, all thoughts of ridiculousness fell out of her mind when Charlie took her hand, as naturally as though they had been doing so for years. His fingers were slightly calloused, palm warm.

"Look, this might seem a bit forward, but I'm making up for lost time," Charlie said, pulling her from her own thoughts. "How would you feel about dinner?"

"We do have almost twelve months of missed opportunities to make up for," Hermione agreed.

Charlie's smile, wide and infectious, appeared within half a second. "I know a brilliant little curry place around the corner from here. Very low key. Ideal second date material."

"I am quite partial to Indian food."

The silence they fell into was easy, almost comfortable. She was tempted to break the moment and seek out gloves, December's grip on London fierce. The wicked weather meant quiet streets, people seeking refuge and preparing for the upcoming holidays. Christmas was something she had offered few thoughts to, though Cho had opted to work at Mungo's on Christmas Eve rather than participating in their usual takeout and telly routine on the holiday. On Christmas Day, they would both be due at their respective parents' houses, for a laborious lunch on both their parts.

London, of course, had not forgotten the holiday. Anything that could be wrapped in fairy lights twinkled in the rapidly darkening afternoon. Shopfronts boasted their own Christmas trees, the streets a competition for who could have the most festive front window. The weather promised snow in the next day, the air certainly crisp enough to make it a distinct possibility. Though she had enjoyed Christmases as a child, her twenties had offered no real magic in the holiday. Until she and Ron had divorced, they had been spent at The Burrow, too loud and too much food. Lunch with her parents was always enjoyable, if not a bit forced. They had never been one for pomp.

Letting her thoughts get the best of her, Hermione sighed, loud enough to attract Charlie's attention as they entered the restaurant. It was a small hole in the wall, the air thick with spices, Hindu paraphernalia on every wall.

"Is my choice of second date restaurant not up to scratch?" he asked, his hand on the small of her back as they walked to a table. It certainly _smelled_ up to scratch, and Hermione assured him that was not what was on her mind. "Then what's wrong?"

"I was just thinking about Christmas," she said, taking her seat. They both ordered _Singha _beers from the waitress, who listed off the restaurant's special in rapid order. Hermione struggled to keep up, deciding she would stick with something simple after she caught "goat curry" coming as a recommendation.

"What about Christmas could prompt such an exasperated sigh?" Charlie asked when they had decided on their mains (butter chicken for her, beef Madras for him) and placed their order. "Surely you know that it's the most wonderful time of year."

"I'm not some sort of Scrooge, if that's what you're worried about," Hermione said, though she kept her history with ghosts to herself. "I just haven't had a Christmas worth remembering in a long while. It all gets a bit repetitive after a while."

"How do you normally spend the holidays?"

She explained the routine, omitting her past holidays spend with her ex-husband and his family. Being the only customers in the restaurant, their meal arrived quickly, just as Hermione turned the question around on Charlie. "How do you spend the days?"

"Wherever I can find willing company," he said. "My parents passed away a few years ago and I haven't got any family I'm close to. But most of my friends are retreating to sunnier shores this year, so I'm out of options."

Hermione considered that as she chewed on a piece of naan bread, the words forming around the dough before she had time to fully comprehend them. "You could always spend Christmas Eve at my place," she offered. Charlie looked up, evidently surprised, and she quickly tried to cover her tracks. "I mean, if you want. You don't have to. It's just my roommate is working at the hospital this year and I don't really have anyone else to spend the day with. Plus, we are trying to make up for lost time, aren't we?"

"Surely you have other friends," Charlie said. She tried not to wince, thinking about Harry, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Luna, Neville. The list could have gone on, but she firmly put an end to that train of thought. "But if not, then I'd love to."

At that, Hermione beamed. "I'm a terrible cook, though," she warned him.

"I'll lower my expectations," he said. "We'll keep it simple. A turkey-free Christmas."

With that, they moved conversation on to the quality of the restaurant, straying into talk of their favourite everything. As it had done earlier in the day, interaction was easy. Charlie's casual touches increased in frequency, feeling all the more natural as time went on. At eight o'clock, two hours after they had arrived at the restaurant, conversation eventually exhausted.

"I suppose we should call it a day," he said. "It's been a very long first date."

Though she had enjoyed herself immensely, Hermione agreed. She was tired and knew Cho would be wondering where she was. They split the bill down the middle, Charlie requiring only a small amount of convincing from Hermione that chivalry should include letting her pay for her own meal, and exited the restaurant.

After Charlie offered to walk her home, they fell back into step easily. They kept quiet, already content in their silence, until they reached the door of her building. It had been a short walk but her teeth were already chattering.

"When do you want me on Christmas Eve?" Charlie asked, breath coming out in a soft mist.

"Four?" she suggested. "We could have an early dinner. I'll buzz you in."

"Sounds brilliant," Charlie said. Hermione realised just how close they were, his words ghosting across her face in a warm cloud. In an unconscious move she was sure was instinctual to warm-blooded human beings, her eyes flickered down to Charlie's lips, then back to meet his gaze. His mouth curved into the smallest hint of a grin in one corner and then, before Hermione could return the smile, Charlie leaned forward and kissed her.

Hermione wasn't certain how long they kissed for. After he ghosted his lips over hers the first time, Charlie returned with renewed vigour, breaking only so they could both come up for air. His hands were on her waist, her hands trailing through the dark hair at the base of his skull. She was certain they were closer than would be considered socially acceptable, and yet there was little that could have pried her away from him. The only thing that alerted her to the passing of time was a snowflake falling, landing on her cheek, melting against her heated skin.

"Oh," she said, lips still against Charlie's. She pulled away and looked up just as another landed, this time on her nose. "It's snowing."

"You should get inside before you freeze, then," Charlie said. "It'd put a bit of a dampener on my Christmas plans if you died."

"I'll see you Friday, then," Hermione said, and he nodded, leaning in and pressing a last chaste kiss to her mouth.

The contact left her giddy even after she had entered her building, the door locking loudly behind her. She looked back, saw Charlie staring at her through the glass door. He cracked a smile, turning up his collar as the snow began to fall even faster, tucked his hands deep into her pockets. Hermione offered a small wave, smiling back until the lift sounded and she entered, pressing the button for the top floor.

"Where've you been?" Cho asked when Hermione made it back to her apartment, lips swollen and sore. "You look like you've been thoroughly kissed."

"I had a date," Hermione said, the announcement enough news for Cho to drop the book she was reading. "With Charlie."

"The dragon tamer?"

"No, you dolt. Charlie Wallace. The P.E. teacher at my school," Hermione said. "Don't look so disappointed."

"But a _teacher_? That's so dull."

"I think I've had enough excitement to last me a few lifetimes over," Hermione said. "Dull is what I needed. Besides, after Ron, why would the first person I choose to date end up being his brother?"

"Tattoos," Cho said. "Muscles. All the good things."

"You're gay," Hermione pointed out.

"I can still appreciate."

"Well, from the looks of it, Teacher Charlie appears quite muscular," Hermione said. He had certainly felt it, too. "And he may even have a tattoo hidden away."

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><p><strong>AN: **Please **REVIEW**.


	3. Chapter 2: Our Love - Our End

**A/N: **Fun fact. I had this chapter saved on my computer as "Our Love" but the title in document said "Our End." That hurt quite a bit, so I combined the two, and it hurt even more.

Thank you for the support I've received on this story so far! Unfortunately, updates will likely be quite sporadic because of work and university, so I'm not sure about how frequently they'll be coming out. That said, I feel far more inclined to work on a story if I know people are reading it, so keep on reviewing!

Song recs for this chapter are "Into My Arms," by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds and "To Be Alone With You," by Sufjan Stevens.

Enjoy! And please don't forget to review!

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><p><strong>OUR END  OUR LOVE**

Had Draco been the sort of man to believe in such things, he would have called it a miracle.

But he knew calling it such a thing would devalue the work of Healer Chang, to give all the credit to some faceless god. Were it eight years ago, he would have jumped at the chance to devalue her work, sought any means to claim the credit as his own. Instead, it was hours of potions work, stasis spells, and downright talent on behalf of the Healer that had led them to this point. To Astoria in a wheelchair, dressed in something other than a hospital gown.

Pansy had picked out the cream ensemble, had it perfectly pressed and fitted to his love's shrinking frame. After he had dressed her, Draco took the time to brush her hair, ensuring it shone even beneath the hospital room's fluorescent lighting. Sometime during, she had fallen asleep, roused only when he pressed a palm to her cheek.

"Is it time?" she asked. Though makeup had been applied, her fatigue shone through, her lips remained cracked. He nodded and she smiled. "And the house?"

"Is all set up," Draco finished for her. "The elves have decorated and cleaned. The couch in the front room has been turned into a bed for you. We're going home."

"Like you promised."

"Like I promised."

Though the promise had been made three months ago, he still intended to deliver. Their home had been aired out, the curtains opened. House elves from the Manor had decorated until the house was as festive as was still practical, every surface holding a vase with Astoria's favourite flowers, the perfect homecoming, timed for Christmas Eve. If she had to die, it would happen on their terms.

The hospital was lucky enough to have a few cars available to loan to long-term patients who required transportation, cleverly magicked vehicles that ensured rapid transport and extendable backseats. With the help of a Mediwizard, they got Astoria into the car. Her lips were pinched in discomfort, relaxing only once Draco had joined her, holding her close to him. Whether it was magic of an eagerness to return home, the car ride was mercifully short, the trip into the front room aided by elf magic and capable hands.

Having spent so long in a bed, even the minimal exertion required on her part left Astoria exhausted by the process, and Draco could see every line in her face relax as he pulled the sheets up over her body. Around them, enchanted lights twinkled, dimly lit in the afternoon's light. The Christmas décor was minimal, yet festive enough to feel like it was almost normal. A tree adorned entirely in silver ornaments sat in the corner, Astoria's head tilted towards it and a fondness in her eyes when Healer Chang stepped forward.

"I just need to put this on you," she said, holding up a thin silver band. "It's to check your vital signs so we can keep an eye on them at the hospital."

Draco lifted Astoria's arm as Chang clasped the bracelet around her fading wrist. "You'll know if anything goes wrong?"

"I have its sensor with me now. I also have one at the hospital and one in my apartment," the Healer said. "If anything happens before the decided time, I'll know."

"Thank you," Astoria said, and like every word she spoke now, this sounded like an ending. "Thank you so much."

Chang smiled, but Draco could see the tightness in her face, the heaviness in her eyes. "Floo me at the hospital if you need anything," she said.

"Thank you," Draco repeated. "Really. You…well, you didn't need to extend such courtesy."

Her face seemed to soften, the crinkles around her eyes seemed to smooth. "It was my job," Chang said, "and you have paid your dues. I'm just sorry there wasn't more that I could do."

"You gave me one last Christmas," Draco said. Just saying the words pulled at something in his chest, made his throat burn.

"Just use it well," she said. "I have to go. Enjoy your time at home. Merry Christmas, Draco."

She collected her things, patted Astoria's hand once more, and then Draco heard the front door close and the car pull away. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Home brought with it a crushing sense of fatigue. It seemed to pull at every one of his bones, reminding him of just how tired he was from sleepless nights hunched over Astoria's hospital bed. His muscles ached, a dull pain he hadn't felt in all those months at her bedside.

"Draco," Astoria called to him and he turned, trying to smooth his face into something less agonised. "Go shower. Put on new clothes. What's the point of being home if you don't act like it?"

"I don't want to leave you."

Astoria's smile was faint, though it was still enough to lift her features. "We have until tomorrow night," she said. "I'm just going to sleep. You won't miss a thing."

But he might, he thought. Because he had missed his chance at everything, because he had missed his chance at anything. But Astoria's stare was relentless, pushing him towards the bathroom with heavy feet. The ache went straight to his core as he peeled off his clothes and a sense of normalcy seemed imbued with his soap. Lathering it upon his skin, he washed the hospital's cleanliness down the drain, carefully detangled his too-long hair with his fingers as he massaged his scalp. Working from top to bottom, he realised he had forgotten how much he enjoyed a proper shower in the comfort of his own home.

Beneath the spray, he was able to lose track of time, to lose track of the world that existed outside the bathroom. Even in the bedroom, picking out fresh clothes, he could imagine that Astoria would walk through the door at any moment, announcing her arrival with a call to him. She would abandon her bag of lesson plans at the door, cheery despite the exhaustion that comes from another day of working at a primary school, surrounded by happy young faces. Alive. Draco would pour her a glass of wine, they would cook dinner together in the kitchen. Simple. Happy. _Easy_.

But then he was deposited back into reality, the change offering no finesse, when he emerged from the master bedroom and into the cold hallway. It was too quiet, too still. Despite the abundance of enchanted twinkling lights, a darkness had fallen across the house. Astoria's breathing was so quiet he could barely hear it, had to bend to make sure her chest was rising and falling, a predictable pattern. Using the tip of his wand, his lit a fire in the hearth and settled into his favourite armchair, tilting his head to watch her sleep for a moment.

Then, for what could have been the thousandth time that day, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

* * *

><p>When Draco woke, he was too warm. The room glowed orange with the fire that continued to crackle and he realised the warmth was coming from a blanket that had been spread across him sometime during his accidental nap. He squinted against the light for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The rest of the room had darkened around him as he slept, the lights having dimmed in his unconsciousness. He tossed the blanket off, stretching his legs out as he stood and looked towards Astoria.<p>

"How long have you been awake?" he asked, noticing her eyes on him and a smile on her face.

"Not long."

"You were watching me sleep."

"Yes," she said. "Help me up, please. You look so calm when you sleep. All these lines around here just sort of melt away. You look so at peace."

After he had helped her sit up, she had lifted her hand to press it against his cheek. With delicate fingers, he held her wrist, taking her hand in his. "I wish you would have woken me," he said.

"You need to sleep, Draco."

"I can sleep later," he said. After, he added in his mind, the unspoken word hovering in the space between them. "How are you feeling?"

"Happy," she said. Ready, her face said. Another unspoken.

"Good." He took great care as he traced her hand with his fingertip, trailing his touch up her wrist and to the crook of her elbow. The skin was pale, blue veins stark against the flesh. He moved his touch back to her hand, lingering on the fourth digit. Draco reached into his pocket, knowing it would be there when he closed his fingers around the band of the ring he had never put away. When he removed it from his pocket, Astoria smiled.

"I was wondering when you'd ask."

"You knew?"

"Of course," she said. "I know you, Draco. Sometimes I think I know you more than yourself," she said. Her hand moved and she touched the glittering diamond. "Yes, by the way."

In his dreams, the ones he had indulged in so many months ago, there had been champagne. There had been champagne and starlight and months to plan the wedding. _Years_, if they so chose. The more he remembered those fantasies, the further away they seemed to be. Such happiness, such unadulterated joy, could only have belonged in another lifetime. He had no right to indulge in such things, not with his tainted past, nor his tainted future. But he put the ring on her hand anyway, the band magically shrinking until it was a perfect fit. The rock was too big for her tiny hands, everything about her smaller than it had been when he picked the ring out.

And yet it was still perfect, so he kissed the back of her hand, kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, her chin. Even a chaste press of his lips to the tip of her nose, enough to make her smile. Draco kissed her lips, though they were cracked and dry, lifted a hand to cup her face. He felt an overwhelming need to mumble apologies against her mouth, for what he had done, for how it had led to all of this. But he did not succumb, instead feeling again that heaviness in his bones as he pulled back.

"You've been so brave," Astoria said. "You don't have to be brave for me."

"You're probably right." He kissed the palm of her hand. "You've always been brave enough for the both of us."

But he wanted to be brave. As hot tears began to fall down his cheeks, as his throat burned so much he thought he had swallowed Fiendfyre, he ached for courage. He ached for time, for something more than the promised few hours some cleverly cast Stasis spells allowed. His sleep had lost them five precious hours, leaving them just over twenty before the charms wore off, if everything went to plan. Though all he would have done in consciousness was watch Astoria sleep, if the fatigue had remained in his bones, his sleep-deprived mind could at least delude him into thinking the world was better than reality. Now, he was faced with the gripping certainty that this, the unnamed, was going to happen.

Astoria's hand ran through his hair as he cried, unabashedly weeping. This was no time to scrounge for dignity, to pretend he cared about the Malfoy façade. There was no point, not when Astoria knew him as well as she did. Not when it would physically pain him to lock such emotions up once more. He had kept such display of emotions off his face at the hospital, unwilling to let himself go in front of strangers. But Astoria's fragile fingers in his hair and his head in her lap coaxed him into the cathartic release, until his eyes felt raw and his cheeks had dried.

Sometime in his display of emotion, Astoria had fallen asleep. He was careful to extract himself, hot under the collar, curiously embarrassed at his breakdown. He pulled the blanket up higher, covering a slightly shivering form, and used his wand to reignite the fire. Though he was loathe to leave her for a moment, Draco's stomach grumbled uncomfortably. He smoothed the hair from Astoria's face, one last lingering look. It was an inexplicable feeling that made him turn back when he was halfway to the kitchen, kiss her forehead. Though she couldn't hear him, Draco still whispered that he loved her, pressed his lips to the shell of her ear.

He was only gone five minutes. He counted the seconds, choosing a sandwich for the quickest, easiest option. He made a cup of tea, adding a splash of milk, right as his stomach seemed to drop to his feet. There was no logic, Magic or Muggle, that could explain how he knew, but he dropped his teaspoon to the counter with a clatter, dodged the island counter to return to the front room. Draco pressed his hand to Astoria's forehead.

The first sign that something was wrong came was how cold she was, even with the blankets and the fire. Next came the loud banging at the door, demanding. He heard a familiar voice calling out his name, almost tore the wood from the hinges to allow Healer Chang and her cohort access.

"She's so cold," Draco said as Chang tore away the blankets. Mediwitches helped lie Astoria flat, tossing pillows in all directions. The too-big room felt too-small and he flattened himself against one of the walls, standing on his toes to get a look in at what was being done.

Chang, who had only ever been composed in his presence, had a fine layer of sweat on her upper lip as she recited spell after spell, wand hovering over his partner's limp body. The Mediwitches added in their own magic, dishevelled, worn out. Draco heard Chang swear and saw her wipe at her forehead. She abandoned the heavy green cloak she had been wearing, her mandatory uniform. In any other moment, he might have been surprised by the all black everything, tight fitting, the back of her shirt slashed open to reveal a glittering tattoo against her skin. But he barely glanced, attention diverted only by the flash of lime green fabric, before his focus was on Astoria once more.

The body on the bed still showed no signs of life. Continuous spells formed green and blue and yellow and red glows over her, but nothing made a difference, penetrated any farther than skin deep. One of the Mediwitches, wrinkled and greyed, shook her head.

"_No_," Chang said, and lifted her wand. "Again. Now."

The Mediwitch frowned, put her hand on Chang's wrist. Draco watched as the wand arm was lowered, the Healer's head dropping with it.

And then he felt himself fall forward, his legs incapable of holding him any longer, his arms flailing, reaching, fingers gripping to the sofa, pulling himself upright, staggering forward, clutching, Mediwitches moving, pulling Chang out of the way, his hands on Astoria's skin, cold and hard and nothing like her couldn't be her none of it could be happening, his tears marking hot tracks down his cheeks.

It was a firm hand on his shoulder that woke him up, the human contact pulling him from his spiral. Chang stood over him, her own eyes red. Makeup smudged, sweated through, hair out of place, she bent down slightly to match his eye level.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she said. "It was a side effect from the long-term Stasis Spell. Her body wasn't used to such exertion." There was a pregnant pause in which Chang steadied her voice, swallowed, breathed deeply. "We did all that we could. I'm so sorry."

Draco thought his throat might have been pulled out. He fell backwards, landing on the couch, wanting to yell and scream and shout. But nothing came out. There was nothing left to come out, no point in saying it anyway. The Mungo's staff moved around him, packing up the room. When he felt ready to look back to the bed, Astoria was already gone, the sheets vanished. The wrinkled Mediwitch shrunk the furniture down to dollhouse size, stored it in a suitcase.

When the room was back to what would have to pass as normal, not that anything would feel normal for quite some time, he considered standing. The etiquette he was raised on would have instructed him to stand, hold the door open as the witches filed out. But his legs wouldn't work and he could barely look at Chang, look at the old witch who had shook her head, instructing the Healer to stop. He offered no farewell, but felt Chang's hand on his shoulder. It was an olive branch. He longed to snap it.

When he offered no response, the front door opened, a rush of cold hair, slammed shut. Draco dropped his head into his hands, rubbed at his eyes.

* * *

><p>"I hope you're okay with Thai food. It's probably a bit late to start cooking dinner," Hermione said, looking up at Charlie from where her head rested against his chest. He was as naked as she was, their skin covered only by a sheet. Clothes were scattered about the room, an embarrassing testament to their lack of patience, her eagerness to break her sexual drought. She turned her head back down, tilting it closer to his chest. "God, you must think I'm such a slag."<p>

Ending up in bed had not factored into Hermione's plan of having Charlie over for Christmas Eve dinner. Ending up in bed less than half an hour after he walked through the door was certainly _not _part of Hermione's plan, either, but she thought they better move off the couch before anything got stained. In an attempt to justify it to herself, she blamed her actions on having gone thirteen months without sex, on the repressed relationship she and Charlie had endured for the past few months, and on the way his shirt fit tightly to his chest.

He had kissed her upon his arrival in her flat, her arms around his neck as she backed them up into the apartment. There had been muttered dismissals of wine, of food, an inflated eagerness to kiss and touch replacing them. Now, in the aftermath, it wasn't as though she regretted what happened. All she regretted was the timing and the uncovered food in the kitchen.

Charlie made a gentle noise, a soft exhale, as he pulled her closer against him. "It took us six months to shag, Hermione," he said. "That certainly doesn't qualify as slaggy."

"So now that this has happened, you're not going to up and run?"

"That might be a bit difficult considering we work together," Charlie said, and his fingers began to run an absent pattern up and down her naked arm. The skin broke out in goosebumps. "Though it might be hard seeing you at work from now on. All I'll want to do is pin you against the wall and snog you senseless."

The thought made her shiver, apparently Charlie's desired reaction. His hand crept beneath the sheet, running along her skin, setting the nerve endings alight. Just as his fingers skated across their destination, there was a loud bang.

Hermione sat bolt upright, pulling the sheet with her. Instinctively, she looked to her bedside table, though her wand had obviously been hidden away for her visitor. But Cho's footfalls, however heavy, were distinguishable. She could pick her roommates gait out anywhere, though worry flooded her veins when she heard a sob.

"Give me a minute," she said to Charlie, exchanging the sheet for a robe.

Like at most other times in her life, Hermione was quite certain of what had happened. Her roommate was notoriously calm, having learned how to keep her emotions in check in the years following the war. There were few times when she cried, even fewer when she slammed doors. Both had featured in the last three minutes, and it seemingly offered one explanation.

"Cho," she said, knocking on the door of the second bedroom. There was a quiet shuffle of movement before the door opened. Cho stood, cheeks stained black, eyes rimmed red. "Oh," Hermione said. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione pulled her roommate into her arms. "It was Astoria," Cho said, the words broken by sniffles and sobs. "I tried so hard. I wanted to give them Christmas."

She had little clue of what the Healer was talking about, such medical information obviously kept private. But she held Cho for the next minute, waiting until her tears dried up. "Go have a shower, okay?" Hermione suggested. "Put on some clean clothes. I'll make tea and order takeout. That little Thai place around the corner is open tonight."

Cho composed herself, wiping at the mascara on her cheeks, and nodded. She retreated back into her room and Hermione waited outside until she heard the shower running before returning to her bedroom. Charlie had apparently caught on to what was happening, and sat at the foot of the bed, fully dressed.

"One of her patients died," Hermione explained. "I'm really sorry, but it looks like I need to put friendship before, well…"

"Fucking?" Charlie supplied, smiling, but his eyes were serious. He kissed her forehead and Hermione sighed. "It's all good. I think I have some leftovers in my fridge I can eat and some bad telly to catch up on."

"Sorry," she repeated. "I have to spend tomorrow with my parents but what about Boxing Day? We can eat all the leftovers my parents force on me."

"Sounds like a plan," Charlie said. She followed him to the front door of the apartment, already missing her bed. The longing only intensified when he kissed her goodbye, a chaste press of his lips against hers. It certainly wasn't enough to satisfy and he certainly knew that, giving a knowing smile before he shut the door.

Hermione took a moment to collect herself before she set about making tea, ordering dinner, and playing the perfect roommate.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Don't forget to leave a review!


	4. Chapter 3: Where It Hurts

**A/N: **I'm so sorry that this is so late. Think of it as my Christmas present to you. Currently, I'm working full time in retail so it being the holiday season, I've been completely overworked and by the time I get home each day, I just want to curl up and go to sleep.

Thanks for all of the fabulous support you've given me. More frequent updating should return soon, but I refuse to make any promises.

Song recs for this chapter are "Better," by Regina Spektor and "Amie," by Damien Rice.

**Please review!**

* * *

><p>Hermione smiled at Charlie when he entered the staffroom, dressed down for their first day back teaching after the break. Admittedly, she had seen him in all manner of dress over the past two weeks, from nothing at all to a three-piece suit, donned for one of their fancier date nights. But still, his teaching uniform of a tight t-shirt and low-slung sweat pants was always one of her favourites. Charlie winked in response, noticing how she eyed him up and down. Mentally, Hermione chastised herself for being so single-minded, particularly when she was supposed to be discussing new tutoring arrangements for lagging students with the headmaster.<p>

She turned her attention back to the list, sighing when she saw a few repeat offenders. "Okay," she said slowly, accepting the list from the headmaster. "I suppose I can work to organise a tutoring session once or twice a week after school, depending on numbers of students and willing teachers." She was regretting the words as they came out of her mouth, having already agreed to volunteer in Cho's program at Mungo's on her weekends. This imposition was going to cut down what little spare time she would have left. "Leave it with me. I'll draw up a plan by the end of the week."

Seeming to placate the headmaster, who always seemed determined to come to her when he required extra work to be done, Hermione accepted the bundle of files he had been holding. The first bell rang, instructing students to head to classrooms and teachers to get their act together for the first lesson. Hermione's eyes fixated back on the list of twenty-two students, all of whom were struggling with the year's coursework.

"You're going to wear a hole straight through your lip if you're not careful," Charlie said. He had his hand on her lower back, fingers splayed against her wool skirt.

Hermione knew it was a bad idea, knew that relationships between teachers were to be kept away from the schoolyard, but she leaned into his touch anyway. "There's just far too much to do," she said, flipping open one of the files. It contained the specifics regarding students' difficulties. Some pupils had half a file all to themselves.

"You could do me instead," Charlie said.

"Oh, very work appropriate." She rolled her eyes at his cheesy grin. "But really, I'm volunteering at the hospital this week, I have to organise this, mark all the essays the kids wrote over the winter break, see my parents, see _you_, and write letters to all my friends to wish them a happy new year."

The second bell went off and she sighed again. It became somewhat of a habit when she was in the school building.

"Why do you have to write to all your friends?"

"Because I neglected them this holiday season in favour of shagging you and looking after Cho." She double-checked her bag to make sure she had all the relevant material for her first session of the day, though Hermione was quite certain _Hamlet_ was not the ideal way to start a Monday. "I'll see you at break time."

She ducked away from his lips when he went to kiss her on the cheek, seeing the librarian eyeing them suspiciously. Mrs Dove was eyeing them over the top of her spectacles, offering a look that was remarkably similar to Madame Pince's despite the fifty-year age difference. Hermione offered a small smile to the librarian, though the returning gesture was just a purse of the lips, and continued out of the staffroom and down towards her classroom.

She was greeted by raucous chatter, students seated on desks, a few even tossing paper aeroplanes about. It was a familiar scene, an easy one to deal with, attracting the attention of the class when she dumped the files down onto her desk at the front. "Good morning, everyone," she announced, and students returned to their seats. "I'm sure you've all had a wonderful two weeks off, during which time you were able to complete your papers on _The Study In Scarlet_ without referring to any screen adaptations."

There was a collective groan, a familiar sound from her days at Hogwarts, and the shuffling of papers as students pulled their essays out. Hermione wandered around the room, picking up papers, offering words of encouragement. "Never mind Mr Holmes anymore," she said, returning to her desk. "I'm assuming very few of you got started on reading _Hamlet_ over the break, despite my recommendation that you get started on this term's reading in advance." The silence was enough to assure her that she was the only one in the room who had read (or reread) the book over the winter break.

Hermione held back another sigh, picking up her worn copy of the play and moving around to sit on the front of her desk.

"Miss?" came a voice from the back, familiar and snarky. "Oi, Miss."

"Yes, Trevor?" Hermione asked. In her mind, she imagined the head of Neville's schoolyard pet transplanted onto the toad of a student before her.

"Miss, you look real good today," Trevor said. His cronies around him sniggered. "Well shagged."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Congratulations, Mr Hines," she said.

"For what, Miss?"

"Earning yourself the first detention of the new term," she said. "And a one way trip to the Headmaster's office. I'm certain he'll be pleased to see you five minutes after class has started."

"Miss-,"

"_Now_, Mr Hines," she said.

As Trevor continued to complain, swearing under his breath and using words Hermione knew would earn him at least a week's detention, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Mondays were rarely kind, that much she knew, and this was shaping up to be a hell of a day.

Absently, a part of her thought that a couple of weeks away from her job would be quite pleasant.

* * *

><p>Hermione kept her head down. It wasn't the first time she wished there were Floos on every floor of the hospital, that she wasn't relegated to using the main entrance like everyone else. She was adamant on refusing special treatment in the Wizarding world, but the constant staring was getting on her nerves. As she turned the corner, her robes swished dramatically behind her. Yet another part of the Wizarding world she could do without.<p>

They were barely worn, bought just before her self-imposed exile, and decidedly less comfortable than Muggle clothing. She fiddled with the sleeve as she walked, focused on the floor, following the familiar path to the lift on the western side of the building that would take her to Cho's department. Unfortunately for her, the entrance to the hospital was on the diagonal opposite of her destination, and the halls felt particularly endless.

"_Hermione_?"

The elevators were directly in front of her, waiting at the end of the corridor, but the voice was familiar, warm. She stopped, turning on her heel.

"Ron," she said. He wore navy blue Auror robes and his hair was cropped short, far shorter than when she had last seen him. He stood from the row of hard plastic chairs and before she could move, he had wrapped her in his arms. His body was too warm, arms too heavy around her. She wanted to squirm away before anyone noticed. "Hi."

"Hi?" he said, stepping back. "I haven't heard from you in _months_ and then you come swanning about Mungo's in robes like you've been in our world this whole time, and all you can say is, 'hi'? Wait, _have_ you been here this whole time?"

She sighed. Apparently that particular habit wasn't regulated to the school zone. She considered it symptomatic of Mondays. "No, Ronald, I'm not back," she said. "I'm helping Cho with something."

Ron's face puzzled, relaxed, the way it always did after he jumped to conclusions. "Oh."

"Yes."

"Have you heard from-?"

"No," she said because _that_ train of conversation would hurt too much, far more than seeing her ex-husband in the halls of the hospital.

"Neither."

She wished she was running late, could have an excuse to sidestep her old friend and run up to the top floor of the hospital. But, as Hermione as ever, she had arrived twenty minutes early and still had ten minutes to get to Cho's office. A door opened and Ron's head turned and Hermione entertained the juvenile thought of running for the elevator whilst his attention was elsewhere. But then he smiled, and her acute sense of sick curiosity kept her feet rooted to the ground.

"Hermione, do you remember Romilda Vane from Hogwarts?" he asked as a noticeably pregnant Romilda approached, dressed in soft blue robes.

"How could I forget?" Hermione said. She tried desperately to ignore the ache in her abdomen. "She poisoned you. It was quite memorable."

Romilda flushed to the roots of her curly black hair. "Yes, well, I was an impressionable schoolgirl at that point," she said. "Ron mightn't have been my intended recipient but perhaps fate had it right the first time."

"Yes, _fate_," Hermione said.

"Rommy's a Seer," Ron said. "I suppose the love potion was a bit of a premonition."

"Must've been," Hermione said. She was trying to quash the bitterness at the back of her throat when Ron's arm laced around Romilda's waist.

"Well, whatever it is has lead to this little one," Romilda said. "I'm five months along."

Hermione couldn't remember asking about the state of the pregnancy but found herself smiling and nodding. "Well, congratulations," she said. Her cheeks ached with the effort. "I really must be getting up to Cho's office now. I hope everything goes smoothly with the pregnancy."

She didn't wait for Ron to offer a farewell, knowing her exit was childish as she turned away and continued to the elevators. Her eyes burned and she squeezed them shut, not at all thinking of the swell of Romilda's belly and Ron's dopey smile when he looked at her. Hermione let out a heavy breath when she found she had the elevator to herself, wiping furiously at her cheeks to eradicate any sign of tear tracks.

Cho was sitting behind her desk when Hermione reached the office, wearing an outfit that would get Hermione fired if she tried to wear it to work. Somehow, leather pants didn't seem suited to a primary school. A set of lime green robes were hung carefully over the back of the chair, though, and any envy Hermione had momentarily harboured dissipated. Almost any outfit would be better than robes, in her mind, as she fiddled again at the cuff of her light blue pair.

"You're wearing robes," Cho said, looking Hermione up and down. "You look like you're being swallowed by some fabric monstrosity."

"That's what I thought," she agreed. "But I figured I should try and blend in a bit if this is going to work."

"Please," Cho scoffed. "You could turn up in just your pants and my boss would still be thrilled to have you in the ward."

"That makes one person, at least," Hermione said.

"Oh, don't be so sour," Cho said, standing and covering herself up with her required robes. She fiddled with the clasps, making sure they were done up, the fabric falling neatly around her. "It won't be that bad."

* * *

><p>After Hermione had woken up screaming, covered in a thin layer of sweat, she decided that it really <em>was<em> that bad. She had changed into fresh pyjamas, made herself a cup of tea, and settled herself in front of the fireplace with a pile of essays to mark sometime around three o'clock in the morning. Her heart wouldn't slow down and her hands were still shaking, the comments on her students' homework almost illegible.

Cho didn't come out until half past six, when Hermione had moved onto coffee and all her holiday marking was completed. She had moved on to watching a 24-hour news channel on the television, the stories circling and circling around her brain.

"Nightmares?" Cho asked, fixing herself some tea.

Hermione didn't bother looking over, just murmured a confirmation and fixated firmly on the mug in her hands. It had been a long while since night terrors had ruled her life, since she had been forced to function on a small handful of stolen hours before the memories she so carefully locked away when she was awake broke into her unconsciousness. The last time, she woke with blood between her legs and Ron shaking her, begging her, pulling her back to consciousness.

"Hermione?" Cho said and Hermione had the feeling it wasn't the first time she'd said her name. "Maybe you should take the day off work. You look like a wreck. I'll get you a Dreamless Sleep Potion from work for tonight."

Hermione drained the last of her coffee, nodded. With a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she called her boss, sounding sufficiently worn out to allow her the day off. She watched as Cho set about making a pot of tea instead. Her eyelids ached with fatigue but she was too afraid to close her eyes, deciding a day on the couch with her favourite movies to be the best solution for her weariness.

"You shouldn't come to the counselling sessions anymore," Cho suggested. "If it's going to take such a toll on you then it isn't worth it. We can get someone else."

"It wasn't just that, I don't think," Hermione said. The tea had somewhat revived her. There was a slightly spicy taste behind the initial flavour, the strong suspicion of a Pepper-Up Potion. "I saw Ron yesterday."

Cho's eyes widened, brows shooting up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to think about it," Hermione said. "He's dating a girl from school."

"Romilda Vane, yeah," Cho said. "It's all through the papers. About their relationship and her-,"

"She's pregnant, I know."

"Five months, according to the Prophet."

"No wonder Ron's so happy." Hermione's voice was huskier than usual. She coughed to alleviate the noise. "He deserves it, though." Her voice cracked a bit.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Cho said. "It was awful, but it wasn't your fault."

"I know," Hermione said and she didn't believe it at all. "But I think it was seeing them and being surrounded by so much sadness in the counselling session that triggered the nightmares again."

"You could try your own therapist," Cho suggested.

"I don't need _therapy_," Hermione said. "I'll be fine if I get a Potion and a good night's sleep tonight."

Cho didn't offer any more remedies but just shook her head and stood, moving to get ready in time for work. Hermione maintained her position on the couch, finishing her tea. After Cho left, Hermione lay down, moving only to put a new movie on, to make a sandwich around noon, to fetch more tea.

It was just after three o'clock and the credits of _Bridget Jones's Diary_ were rolling on the screen when a loud banging came at the apartment door. Hermione started, reaching instinctively for a wand that wasn't there anymore, instead locked up in her desk in case Charlie decided to come around unannounced. The banging continued as Hermione fiddled with the key, feeling the magic thrum through her veins when she finally got to her wand.

She looked through the peephole, finding an almost familiar face there, raising his fist to bang again. Before he could, Hermione pulled the door open, pointing her wand at an anxious looking Theodore Nott. She registered his Muggle attire, his lack of wand, dishevelled hair.

"_Granger_?" he asked. "What the hell are you doing at Chang's place?" He eyed her up and down, her pyjamas, equally as messy hair. "Holy shit."

"I live here," she said. "This is my apartment."

"You live with Chang?"

"She lives with me," Hermione clarified. "But I'm more interested in what you're doing on my doorstep and how you even found our address."

"Where's Chang, then?"

"You didn't answer my question. Tit for tat."

"What? Why are you talking about tits?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If it's a medical emergency, you should just go to the casualty department at Mungo's."

"No shit," Nott said. "It's not an emergency but I need to talk to your supposed _roommate_."

"She's not here," Hermione said.

"Where is she?"

"Work."

There were footsteps on the stairs, a pattern she had already committed to memory. Hermione tucked her wand up her sleeve, quickly eyed Nott up and down to see if anything would give away his Magical signature, just as Charlie came around the corner carrying a bouquet. He stopped in his tracks for a brief moment before regaining his pace, still warily watching the scene before him.

"Hermione," he said, kissed her temple and draped an arm around her shoulders. "The headmaster said you were sick."

"Just really exhausted. I'll tell you about it in a minute."

"Who's this?" Charlie asked. Nott bristled.

"Someone I used to know. He's looking for Cho."

"Wouldn't she be at the hospital?"

"Precisely what I told him," Hermione said, glaring at Nott. He had folded his arms across his chest, apparently aware of Charlie's Muggle blood, but not threatening to expose them. Instead, he looked almost thoughtful, and Hermione thought it was a far too worrying expression for her. "She'll be there."

"Fine," Nott said, but he stood his ground. Hermione felt Charlie straighten up beside him, looking as imposing as possible. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Charlie, can you go inside and pop the kettle on? I'll be in soon."

Charlie looked like he wanted to ask if she was sure, but even running on three hours of sleep, Hermione apparently had enough energy to muster a threatening look in his direction. He cast one last look over his shoulder before going into the apartment, purposefully noisy as he found the flowers some water and set about making tea.

"Nott, you can't tell anyone where I am," Hermione said, stepping close to her old schoolmate. "_Please_."

"He's a Muggle," Nott pointed out. "This is a Muggle building."

"Yes. What of it?"

"Nothing," he said. "It's interesting. Something to think about."

"Nott, _please_," she said. "I'm almost begging you."

Instead of alleviating her worries, he smiled, smug. "I'll see you around, Granger," he said, walking down the path Charlie had taken and disappearing into the stairwell.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review!**


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